The Traditional Russian Doll
by Hopeful Puppy
Summary: Wilson Fisk was interrupted that night he lost his temper with Anatoly and he will always remember the reason why. A more vivid looking image of vengence would be difficult to find. He would be forever curious as to how the brothers offended the demonic looking woman because it certainly wouldn't have been a mistake he would've allowed himself to make.
1. Evil Spirits

**Fair Weather Warning; my Russian is practically non-existent, save for a few greetings. There really isn't much in this to get wrong but if I have let me know.**

* * *

She arrived the minute the first punch hit the shady Russian brother. Neither man noticed her as she watched the mysterious Mr. Fisk batter the foreign criminal black and bloody. However, once the larger man started dragging the near unconscious Anatoly towards the open car door, she felt she should step in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Fisk, but that's my Russian you're beating."

Wilson Fisk froze with his hand on the car door for two reasons. One; he neither recognised the voice of the woman behind him nor realised that there was even someone else in the vicinity other than said Russian, Wesley and himself. And two; a force was stopping him from moving anything but his eyes, which quickly darted to Wesley, still seated in the limo. Whatever it was that had frozen him; be it instinct, fear or a supernatural force, it didn't seem to be affecting Wesley, who was slipping out of the car to observe their new companion.

"Ah, Mr. Wesley," the young woman purred with an English lilt; "Be a dear and pull that body away from the car, would you? What your employer has planned will ruin not only the interior, but my evening as well."

Wesley couldn't really see the woman, standing back and in the shadows as she was, but Wilson wasn't moving and it really would have been inconvenient if his friend and employer had followed through to where they all, apparently, knew it would. Moving closer to the battered body, Wesley glanced at Wilson to be sure that he was doing the right thing. A movement of the other man's eyes had him quickening his pace in moving the Ranskahov brother. No sooner had he been moved from the car door than Wilson felt his ability to move return to him; slowly and as though he were moving through mud, but returning to him all the same. He turned to look into the darkness with Wesley, as the woman revealed herself from it.

"Young miss, may we inquire about your name?" Wesley asked charmingly, his gaze noting her small stature, crimson hair, blood red eyes and near translucent skin.

"No, you may not," was the abrupt reply. "But if you must be polite, you may call me Ms. Black for now."

"Black?" he confirmed uncertain, thinking red would be a much more appropriate colour.

"As my current thoughts, coincidently."

Wesley shuffled slightly, unnerved by the sharp smile of pearly white teeth that accompanied the confirmation. His pause allowed Wilson to step in, being much more experienced in ignoring his unsettled nerves.

"Ms. Black, this man and his business with us should be none of your concern, as I am his employer and thus am responsible for the consequences of his failure," Wilson explained in a gruff but even tone, hoping to buy Wesley and himself time so they could deal with her before she became more of a liability than she was.

"You see Mr. Fisk, that's where you're wrong," the woman countered, "while I have no connection to the criminal organisation he runs with his brother for you, oh don't look so shocked Mr. Wesley, he is one of my people. Both he and his brother have offended me greatly on a personal level, which I personally think trumps his failure as a criminal layman to you. Ignoring that however, I am offering to deal with him for you."

The men stared at her dumbly for a moment before their expressions shifted into suspicion. Ms. Black rolled her eyes, looking younger and more put out than the males had previously given her credit for; "Mr. Fisk, you are a hard man to find and an even harder man to get information on. I'm sure there is a reason for that. It's probably the same reason you don't run these organisations yourself, rather the people who currently do. I'm willing to bet it's also a reason you don't let yourself get your hands dirty with the small fry like you were about to before I stepped in. Letting me deal with this means the Ranskahov brothers disappear, you keep your hands clean, Mr. Wesley doesn't get extra work and I walk away satisfied."

"And what do you want from this?" Wesley asked, all previous charm from his voice gone in favour of protecting his friend the best he could by getting to what he saw as the heart of the matter.

The blood eyed woman tilted her head with a curious quirk of her lips; "You seem to have misheard me, Mr. Wesley, which is not something I thought possible but I shall reiterate for your benefit. The brothers have offended me greatly on a personal level and I want nothing but the satisfaction of dealing with them personally. There will be no loss on your part. It will cost you nothing because I am willing to do this for free."

Wilson blinked in surprise, but Wesley wasn't convinced; "A generous offer, but it's not enough."

Red eyes narrowed; "You want more? What more could possibly want? My credentials? A reference? No, I will give you no more than proof that they are gone."

This time Wesley narrowed his eyes; "You would return with proof they have been dealt with?"

The redhead sighed in frustration, her accent becoming mixed with a thicker language; "Of course, I would. I'm only selfish up to a point. I want to be the one to kill them but I'm very willing to share the satisfaction for their demise with you."

Wilson's head tipped curiously and Wesley asked; "And if we wanted to get in touch with you aga-?"

"You don't," she cut him off, "I'll find you in a private setting with a beer and whatever concrete proof I decide to show you, a week from now. As I said, I'll give you no more than proof they're gone. Not even a way to contact me."

"What if we were to desire your services-?"

"You won't, because this isn't a service or a business and I work for no one; particularly not those who can't be trusted."

A groan stopped any argument Wesley would've come up with, as the woman's focus centred purely on the bloody Anatoly with a malicious smile. She moved to stand above his head so that when he eventually fought his way to consciousness, her bloodthirsty grin was the first thing he saw. He gasped in fear and backpedalled away from her and the other two men with a hushed; "Tryapichnaya kukla*."

"Oh Annie, my little krolik**, it's so nice to see that you remember me!"

Anatoly struggled to his feet, ignoring his broken nose and aching face but cradling his ribs to the best of his abilities. He glanced between the three people standing in front of him uncertainly and much to Wilson and Wesley's consternation, he seemed far more nervous of the tiny woman in front of him rather than the two of them, despite what had happened not even ten minutes previously. Anatoly gulped; "I'm sorry. We're-"

"No, you're not," Ms. Black smiled sweetly. "But you will be. Now, I'm giving you a head start, so I would get walking if I were you."

He spent three seconds gazing at her expression before he turned swiftly and shuffled off as fast as he possibly could. The remaining three people watched him go.

"Are you sure it's wise to let him go off like that?" Wilson asked in monotone, curious and slightly dubious of the woman's actions.

"Well Mr. Fisk, you certainly did a number on him, so if I get lost, I'll just follow the bloody breadcrumbs he leaves behind. Besides, even if he wasn't leaving blood everywhere, I'd still know where to find him. I tracked him to you after all, didn't I?" she queried rhetorically, with a sly smile and a peripheral glance. Two sharp looks were sent her way as she stretched and continued speaking; "Well, normally I would give him a longer head start. More fun that way but as I'm not sure I entirely like your company, despite how pretty you both are, I think I'll get going. Mr. Wesley, I'll see you in a week's time. Good evening, Mr. Fisk."

Then she was gone. Slipping into the shadows like the darkness itself before the remaining pair of men could even comprehend her parting comment. Even when comprehension came to them, they still weren't sure what to make of it.

* * *

 *** Rag Doll- Traditional Russian rag dolls are handmade and are supposed to protect against evil spirits and illness in children.**

 **** Rabbit.  
**

 **As you can see, I haven't used the Russian Alphabet in this just the phonetics. Forgive and inform me if they're wrong.**

 **Hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Children

Anatoly was dropped unceremoniously, in a messy heap on a coffee table in front of his brother Vladimir, who had been having a quiet vodka on the couch to pass the time. Looking up in outrage, ready to throttle the person responsible for dropping his brother in such a state, he flinched back in fear upon seeing the crimson coloured English woman. His glass shattered when it dropped from his slackened grip, as he fell to his knees beside his brother and was surprised to find Anatoly still conscious. The two brothers looked to the woman respectfully, staying quiet and not moving an inch in case they incited her ire further.

"Saying that I am not happy is similar to saying that the arctic is chilly in winter," she began in a low even tone, though her glare was anything but. "It's an obvious understatement that most people don't make the mistake of speaking aloud for fear of sounding like a drooling Class-A dunce of an idiot."

The brothers winced. They hadn't needed the comparison; her current blood drenched colouring, a stark contrast to how she usually looked, told the world exactly how she felt at this current time. The words 'demonic rage' sailed ominously through their minds. Unfortunately, Anatoly's wince turned into a hissing groan when he jerked at his injuries without thinking. Narrowed red eyes positively glowed at the action and suddenly Anatoly was letting out a pained shout of surprise when his nose forcefully righted itself. Vladimir jolted in alarm at his brother's yelp and upon seeing his newly bleeding but righted nose he turned a worried look the woman focused on his brother's form; "Dolli…"

"Shut up. I'm not finished."

The sharp reprimand, crisp English lilt making it all the more strict, was the only thing said for a long time as Anatoly gasped, shouted and grunted in pain as he was healed of his breaks, bone by agonising bone. With no pain relief and the blood flowing freely, it was a miracle the man was still conscious by the end of it. Each and every snap and tortured sound that came from his brother, chipped at Vladimir's cold and blackened heart because there was nothing that he could do to make this better. He didn't dare ask the woman to stop for fear she might undo all her work and leave him to pick up the pieces of his broken brother. She had so clearly changed since they had last met, that Vladimir wasn't sure what she would do if he asked.

Once she was finished, Anatoly was moved, gently and with the same force that held his attacking employer in place, to rest beside his brother on the couch. Anatoly's glazed eyes could hardly see anything but a red blur in front of him, which was why Vladimir was the only one to tense when the woman reached into her black combat jacket. He relaxed when she only brought out two vials of liquid, rather than the weapon he'd been conditioned to expect. He fed them to his brother one at a time upon her instruction. With Anatoly's eyes gaining more focus and his face, more colour, the bloodthirsty red seemed to drain from the woman, leaving behind a pale figure in black with dark hair and emerald eyes. The brothers gazed up at her from solemn faces and she met their eyes with an equally blank stare. When she finally spoke, it was in a soft voice that sounded extremely tired.

"When we escaped that prison, you told me you wanted a new life; a new chance to build an empire of power. I agreed to that. I didn't like it but I agreed to it; with the provision that you two would stay safe to the best of your ability in your chosen profession, if you could even call it that," she raised a hand when Vladimir opened his mouth to argue, while Anatoly seemed to find her boots far more interesting than the empty feeling in his gut. "Please don't interrupt. This discussion is long overdue and we both know it."

There was a pause before she continued with a little more feeling; "What possessed you to think that working for Fisk was a good idea? A wise man once told me you don't trust things when you can't see where they keep their brains and that applies here too, I think. If you can't find, speak of or even talk to the head of an organisation, generally the reason for that is never a good one. And if you had any sense, any sense at all, you would've known not to get involved. If you had listened to anything I tried to tell you in the past, you would've known better."

There was silence. Even Vladimir was looking down as shamefaced as was physically possible for him because she was right. She had warned them in the past about these things and they had forgotten all of her warnings. Anatoly looked up into her tired face;

"What now, kukla?"

"Now, I have a week to kill off Vladimir and Anatoly Ranskahov. At the end of the week, I bring whatever gory proof I desire to the right hand man, Wesley" she explained matter-of-factly, watching as the brothers expressions shifted into accepting determination. She leaned down to pick up Vladimir's, thankfully closed, vodka bottle from where it had fallen when she dropped Anatoly. "But right now, Anatoly? Right now, we are going to sit and drink and rest."

She smiled as Vladimir raised an eyebrow at her while Anatoly lightened a little at the idea; "The real work can start tomorrow."

She took two steps towards the couch with the bottle and a third step straight into the welcoming arms of the brothers. She dropped the Vodka on the couch so she could rest a hand on each fair haired head that pressed into her stomach. She stood with their arms wrapped around her waist, faces pressed into her abdomen and her arms resting on their shoulders for a long time.

* * *

 **So. Another chapter. Didn't really want to start another story, but it's basically a load of interconnecting drabbles that nearly wrote themselves because they were so short. Let me know if you have any questions or see anything wrong.  
**

 **To the wonderful Guest who left their review, I hope you like this and yes, there will be more. I will update next Friday.**

 **By the way, the next chapter maybe 'M' rating worthy due to implied gore. I don't really trust my judgement on this because, unless it involves sex or truly detailed blood and guts that you can practically see, I pretty happy thinking it as a happy 'T'. If you think that anything in this story is 'M' worthy, (some people are persnickity like that) let me know and I'll shift it up a rating.**

 **Hope you enjoyed it!**


	3. Sickness

A meeting was well underway in the abandoned car park by the time she found the one she was looking for;

"Mr. Wesley, how wonderful to see you again," the demonic Brit purred, announcing her presence, holding a burlap sack over a shoulder and a bottle in her other hand. "I believe you were waiting for this."

The sack was slipped smoothly from her shoulder and thrown at Wesley's feet, an action that was swiftly followed by her cracking the cap of her bottle open with her newly freed hand. While the three crime lords subtly gawked at the red head in their own way, Wesley just gazed at her steadily, radiating disapproval.

"I did say a week, dear," she winked and took a sip of the frothy golden liquid.

"That you did," he murmured, glancing cautiously down at the bag before moving towards it.

Leland Owlsley was not the first to wake from his stupor, in fact he was probably the last, but he was the only one who cared enough to say something about their uninvited guest; "Excuse me, I have a few questions about our interruption here, but you can start by answering who this is?"

"No one of importance, Mr. Owlsley, I can assure you," she answered instead of Wesley, who was retrieving his gloves to look in the bag.

Owlsley, who had been facing Wesley, turned to look at her with a very patronising expression; "Considering you just interrupted a private meeting and addressed me by name, you'll forgive me if I don't believe you, Miss…"

He trailed off as he gazed at her and she took another leisurely sip of her drink, only speaking once her mouth was empty; "I won't be telling you my name, if that's what you want."

Disgruntled but not detoured, Owlsley pushed; "Not only is that unprofessional, it's bad for business."

"Ah, but I'm not a business, Mr. Owlsley and thus, I have no need to be professional. Besides, unlike Mr. Wesley and his employer who are polite to the extreme by default, neither you nor Nobo are very polite at all, so I see no reason why I should even attempt to give you a name to address me by. And before you ask, Madam Gao knows better than to ask for a name unnecessarily."

The two women nodded regally to each other. It was a show of solidarity on the redhead's part and respect to the younger woman from Madam Gao. Anything the other two men may have said in response to that was interrupted by a polite cough from Wesley. One last smug look was shot at the financial man as everyone turned to take in Wesley's passive, if a bit paler, face; the sack still held in his gloved hand.

"Is there a reason for their disfigurement, Ms. Black?" he asked blandly. At the uncomprehending red eyed blink, Wesley reached into the bag with his gloved hand and pulled out a severed head by its fair hair. Two pairs of Asian eyes narrowed at the sight of it while Owlsley just swore. The general assumption was that it was Vladimir's head, purely based on the shape of it. As the eyes had been removed along with the eyelids which left jagged, bloody scars on the surrounding areas, the nose broken into a flattened lump and the jaw broken leaving the mouth open but empty of a tongue, it was understandably a difficult guess as to which brother it was.

"Oh that! Most of that was experimentation. I cut out their tongues though, once they stopped thinking up new insults," she explained, "I left the teeth in there for you though; Just in case you wanted to check them or use them for some reason or another."

"How thoughtful," Wesley smoothly replied, "You don't mind?"

"Makes no difference to me. I'm just here to drop those off and finish my drink."

"I can see," he stated agreeably; "And your thoughts, Ms. Black, are they still as dark as your name? Or should I be calling you something different?"

"Oh no," she hummed thoughtfully, holding her bottle up to the light, showing off the last few mouthfuls of the golden drink, "I'd say my current thoughts are golden. Peachy, even; or maybe some other warm and satisfied colour."

"And there's still no chance of getting a way to contact you?"

She gave a coy smile and raised the bottle to her lips; "None at all."

Wesley sighed as she drained the bottle, but Owlsley was looking between the pair of them incredulously. His eyes settled on, Wesley when he asked; "You're just going to let her walk away? After all she's seen? With all she knows?!"

He swung around at the sound of her chuckle to see her holding the bottle out at arms-length.

"Oh, Mr. Owlsley," she cooed as she let the bottle drop.

The gathered crime lords realised their mistake when they watched it smash and Owlsley felt delicate hands resting lightly on his arms and warm breath caressing his ear with a whisper; "I'd like to see you try and stop me."

The moneyman spun around to face nothing but air. The gathered group carefully examined their surroundings, ignoring their mounting panic at their prey like feelings and the cruel laughter that echoed throughout the open car park.

Leland Owlsley felt as if he'd dodged a bullet.

* * *

 **Reading back over it, I think I'm still okay with keeping this at 'T', regardless of implied torture, which is really the only reason I'm concerned. If you think otherwise, let me know.**

 **I was going to update again next Friday, but then I saw that, that was Christmas Day... So, I thought I'd update next Tuesday or Wednesday instead and have the last update on Christmas!**

 **Again, I hope you enjoyed it!**


	4. Cure

It had taken some effort to find the little eavesdropper. The glimpse she got of him making a quiet exit from the meeting point did not give her much to work with, not even a hair colour. Just a grace of movement that, thankfully, was uniquely difficult to replicate. Attempting to follow him actually gave her more to work with when she tried to stake him out the following night. It seemed the brave little eavesdropper was searching for information on the Russian brother's death and her involvement in it. Not that he could be considered little when she finally got a proper look at him.

Her successful stake out had led to an even more rewarding day of scoping. She was marginally surprised to find he was a blind small time lawyer, with a funny man for a partner, a woman accused of murder for a secretary and that used a priest as a sounding board. She was sure there was more to him than that, but that could've been enough for some people.

She had already decided to meet with him when she first discovered that he was fishing for information. However, she was not overly fond of making noise and causing a scene, hence her stake out and the following scoping. Once she was reasonably sure she knew where he lived and had an idea of when he would be out, she did a little untraceable breaking and entering and left him an invitation. Vladimir would've called her brainless for giving away such valuable information like knowing an address, but she really didn't care who this man was or what he did with his life. Besides, it's not like she was silly enough to make it easy for him. He'd have to prove himself to find her and would inevitably give away more valuable information in the process. She only said she'd meet him on the rooftop in the evening. She didn't say which rooftop.

She had chosen a darkened corner between the roof access and a satellite mast, to sit and wait for the masked vigilante to come and find her. Had she been sitting in the street the same way she was on the rooftop, a number of pedestrians probably would've made a double take or two, due to the fact that she was floating a good two to three inches above the ground. There were a lot of weird and wonderful things in the world aside from her and she was kind of curious to see how he would react to them.

The soft sound of careful foot fall greeted her ears and she quirked her head to watch as a man of average height with a muscular build seemed to pad carefully into the open space of the rooftop, tilting his head this way and that as if trying to hear and see something that nobody else could, until finally he was looking in her direction and taking another tentative step towards her; as if not sure he could trust whether or not his senses were telling him the truth.

"I heard you were looking for me," she began, alleviating his doubt.

He paused to take in her voice, her position and a number of other things she probably hadn't considered, then responded evenly; "You're a hard woman to find."

"Not as hard as you," she smiled at his civility. It was nice to see that he was willing to talk, to think, rather than go in guns blazing.

"Considering you found me first, I'm not sure I believe you," he smiled at where he thought her to be, judging by her voice, and found that his smile wasn't as fixed as it usually was when he confronted an opponent that said something amusing. Depending on your point of view, it helped that her voice was rich and soothing, and her accent easily understandable if foreign to the States.

"Ah, but I've had more practise, and I have a bit of an advantage on my side, as I'm sure you've noticed," she teased and he chose not to comment. He had an idea of what she was speaking about, but after years of being underestimated because of his blindness, he just couldn't be sure.

"There's also the fact that I don't live here, to consider as well," she continued, her voice cheerfully optimistic and sincere, he was surprised she wasn't actually mocking him. "I'm just passing through; you, on the other hand, have a home here; one that can be easily monitored. I'd be careful of that if I were you."

"I'll keep that in mind," he agreed carefully, hearing the clear warning in her voice but unsure as to what she meant by it.

"Good."

A lull in the conversation allowed the masked man to gather his thoughts, but just as he moved to speak them the black haired girl beat him to it.

"How do you see through the mask? It looks quite thick."

Thrown off by the question, he answered without thinking; "I don't need to."

"You are blind" she stated softly with no inflection.

"There are other ways to see," he replied mechanically, kicking himself for not keeping his guard up. It was a well-used answer. It sounded as if he told himself that, as well as others.

"Oh yes, I know," her tone spoke of personal experience and he tilted his masked head in question. She continued, floating into the low light of the night and around his form on her crossed legs but keeping a respectable distance; "But you see without seeing better than most, don't you?"

"How are you doing that?" he asked in frustrated confusion, not only to dodge the question but honestly curious for her to not be making any vibrations in the ground or the air. It was as if she were a ghost.

"In a similar way to how you know I'm here, even though you can't see me," there was a smile in her voice, he could hear it; "A unique ability that I'm sure makes me special in the eyes of others."

She paused, her natural green eyes taking on a haunted look that he couldn't see; "It's the reason I was locked up, actually."

"Locked up?"

"Yes. In a prison in Russia," then she smiled bittersweet; "that's where I met the Ranskahov brothers. We escaped together."

"They were in there for a reason, you know?"

"So was I and it wasn't a moral one," she retorted with a sly look on her face. He shifted uncomfortably, having not heard a lie in her voice for the reason of her imprisonment but still unwilling to believe she was being entirely truthful. She chuckled softly; "I know what you're implying and yes, I'm sure there is a reason they were in there. I've never asked, but I assume it had something to do with murder, among other things."

"And you're okay with that?" it was more of a sarcastic statement than a question but the implication was there.

"No, I'm not but I don't think about it much. The same way they don't think about some of the things that I do to make them uneasy for one reason or another."

"How do you make Russian mobsters who traffic women and kill people for a living uneasy?" he asked with a smirk, though internally he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"By doing the right thing, of course," she giggled and he let out a little laugh of his own, more relieved than he was willing to let on. They fell silent for a comfortable moment after that.

"You still killed them though," he spoke quietly, reluctant to believe that this sincere, quiet, playful little woman could be of the same ilk he hunted at night.

"I killed the Russian crime lords, Vladimir and Anatoly Ranskahov, yes," she confirmed, but the phrasing of her answer would be something that would haunt the man's mind for months.

"Do you believe killing them was the right thing to do? The good, moral, _just_ thing to do?" he asked quietly, becoming more intense by the end.

"Dear little Daredevil," she sighed fondly, "It has been a _long_ time since I have seen the world in such solid tones of black and white."

"How do you see the world then?" he asked, ignoring her name for him for the moment.

"Well, that depends on the day doesn't it? Sometimes it's varying shades of grey. Sometimes the world is a technicolour canvas. And sometimes… Sometimes I don't see the world at all."

"And when you killed them? The Ranskahov brothers? What kind of a day was that?"

"One where I didn't see the world. Only the people in it, my people."

He wasn't sure he understood her answer, but he didn't have too long to think on it because her feet gently touched the ground sending out the slightest of vibrations and suddenly he could see her. In all her petite, fiery glory, he could see her reaching out a hand to him. He looked down at it as she snagged one of his in her grasp.

"My morals and views of the world are skewed since I went to that prison. I may once have been a good person who, like you, went out into the world and changed it for the better. But I can no longer be sure that, what is good is right or just and what is bad is wrong. I can't answer the question that is forming in your mind," she explained gently, and the masked man tightened the grip he had on her hand; because that was what he was looking for. He had been searching for her, to see who she was and to ask how she had killed those men, because he wasn't certain that he could afford to leave the men he was facing alive any more.

Though his face seemed to be made of stone, she knew of the turmoil going on underneath. Once upon a time, she had been there with the same question, even if she couldn't remember it that well.

"I can give you some advice though. If you'd like?" her suggestion was met with a raised head looking in her direction. "People like to turn their villains into monsters that just popped into existence. They like to forget that, these villains most likely have their own stories, their own problems and their own loved ones. I don't think you are one of those people, which is why you came looking for me for answers. Unfortunately, there is no 'off switch' to remove your feelings on the matter. At the end of the day, you have to decide what you can live with, because that's all that matters. You're the only one that you have to live with for the rest of your life, so you're the only one that can answer this question. Can you live with killing a man for the rest of your life, or can you not?"

* * *

 **Last chapter is in the works. Hope you enjoyed this!**


	5. Meaning

A beautiful blonde, blue eyed woman poked the scowling man beside her with a sly smile, her other hand curled into the crook of another man's elbow as he watched his companions with amusement. The other people in the airport, both staff and passenger alike, assumed that the trio were siblings, what with the similar colouring of their faces and eyes, even if the brothers were sporting a slightly darker looking blonde than the sister. For all that the eldest brother was scowling at his sister, it was clear that the three siblings were very fond of each other. The brothers kept the girl between them at all times despite the rolling of her eyes they got in response and she seemed to tease them mercilessly with the only retaliation being a poke to the side or a tug on her long ponytail.

Their passports stated that they were Victor, Ivan and Anastasia Krum, while their flight tickets said they were travelling to London, England to get a connecting flight to Dublin Airport in Ireland. Though the girl looked French, and the boys German, they all spoke in Bulgarian, but anyone with an ear for languages would've realised that it was not their first language.

" _I don't like this, Little Doll,"_ the eldest, Victor grumbled with his scowl still set on his face, _"We should have gone by boat or from another State or both."_

" _Of course, you don't like it, Victor,"_ Anastasia replied with a cheeky grin. _"You look ten years younger than you should, to the point that the old folks think you're a dashing young man who's looking out for his siblings. And who are you calling 'little'? I'll have you know that I'm currently at a perfectly average height for a woman!"_

The young man currently being called Ivan turned his head away to hide his snigger and Victor narrowed his eyes at his brother. He'd always been good at playing pretend but his younger brother really did seem to be calm and relaxed, completely trusting that all their Little Doll had done would work without a hitch. Victor wished he had the same confidence as his brother but he knew he probably wouldn't relax until they were in the air and even then, it would only be a small bit. Anastasia touched his shoulder and didn't speak until he looked at her;

" _Victor, no one is looking for you. I saw to that,"_ she said earnestly, _"even the man in the mask believes you are dead and as he's a human lie-detector, that's saying something. We won't be stopped from boarding this plane, I can guarantee you that. Once we're in England, we can just fade into the woodwork, if you like."_

Victor shook his head, after all the work their Little Doll had put in, he would follow through with her plan despite his paranoia. He really didn't have any reason to believe that it wouldn't work; he was just anxious. She patted his arm and said the two things that always made him calm down since he'd first escaped with her.

" _We'll be fine. Trust me."_

And how could he not when she sounded so confident. All the same he kept a scowl on his face because he didn't like sitting in a crowd like this, waiting for his escape from yet another country to occur. If one were to ask Ivan, however, Victor's scowl looked more like a sulk at that moment.

"Is everything alright there, hun?"

The three siblings looked up to see an elderly American couple peering at them in concern, the kind looking woman being the one who'd spoken. Anastasia gave them a bright smile.

"Oh, we are well," she said with only a hint of Bulgarian in her voice, though her phrasing was foreign. "My brother just doesn't like flying."

The woman chuckle while the man winced in sympathy at Victor's darkened scowl. The woman kept up the conversation as they sat down; "Ah, that's understandable. My Horatio here is the same. If there wasn't an ocean between us and Spain, he'd insist we drive there."

That's how the trio of pretend Bulgarians spent their time right up until they boarded their flight; Victor scowling at nothing, Ivan trying not to laugh and Anastasia making conversation with the American couple sitting across from them. Victor had never been so pleased to get on a plane in his life. He sat in between their Doll in the window seat and his brother in the aisle seat, strapped himself in and instantly tried to fall asleep. His brother wasn't far behind him, being the one who actually was uncomfortable with flying. This left Anastasia to gaze out the window and think uninterrupted.

Her thoughts inevitably went back to her conversation with the Little Daredevil. He'd been silent after she'd asked her last question and looked to be very troubled that he couldn't think of an answer straight away. She'd told him to go home and let her deal with the crime fighting for a night. It took a good bit of convincing, a lot actually, but he had eventually given in and left for his apartment while she started scouting the city for wrong doings. It was familiar in a weird way, running to help people in the dark of the night, fighting to do the right thing rather than the lawful thing. It was like being in a forgotten dream.

She didn't remember her life, previous to the prison for a long time. Flashes of memory both good and bad were all she had to cling to when the question of who she was cropped up. In a twisted way, she was grateful for the lack of memories in hindsight. She was able to build herself up anew from her experiences and her abilities. It made her think and think quickly in a way she hadn't, before she had found herself in the Russian attempt at imitating hell.

She was also fairly certain that if she'd had her memories, she wouldn't have given the Ranskahov brothers a chance. There was also little doubt she wouldn't have survived the prison itself either. She would've been too pure, too righteous to do what she needed to survive. As it was, Vladimir still thought she was too _good_ to be called anything but a little doll, even if he'd momentarily doubted it when she'd brought Anatoly back to him that night.

She was fully aware of the irony in the brother's affectionate nicknames for her. She had a good chuckle about it with for a long time after they escaped. In Russian, there were many different ways to say the term 'dolly', with a variety of different meanings to go with those terms. In the beginning, when she had first been thrown to the brother's mercy in the hope that they would break her in a way the guards hadn't thought of yet, they had called her 'dolly' in a way that meant 'babe' or 'poppet'. This slowly changed to 'childlike' at her naivety of the prison worked. Then it changed to 'puppet' when the prison guards tried to use her against them in various ways, only to turn to 'fool proof' when those attempts didn't work. The final change to her nickname, which had become affectionate over the course of their shared time in the cell, was when Anatoly had come back to their cell, on the verge of death due to an infection in one of his wounds. She had healed him, using nothing more than force of will, instinct and the hazy memories that flitted through her mind like leaves on the wind. To this day, she still can't decide if her lack of memories was something the guards wanted to keep or if she or her magic had been protecting her subconsciously.

After that, 'doll' was in reference to the traditional handmade doll that was used to ward against evil and sickness in children. She couldn't really see the relevance as the brothers were not children and she clearly couldn't ward against evil if she ended up in a place like that hellhole they called a prison. But at the time, she couldn't remember her true name and had been just a number up until the brothers had started calling her doll. It was the first nice thing that she could remember being called, with nice being a relative term, and that fact didn't change when she finally remembered the name she had been given at birth. She liked her name, Iris Lyra Potter; it had a history to it. Iris for the Evans flower tradition and Lyra as a nod to her Black, star named ancestry. But her nickname had meaning and she had to admit, she was rather fond of how appropriate the nickname became.

She turned her gaze to the two brothers who were sleeping restlessly beside her and sent a little of her magic out to them to help them sleep peacefully. She then went back to her thoughts, wondering what she would do after they made it to Ireland. She had promised to stay with them for a time, help them get settled in and such, but the three of them knew it wouldn't be a permanent thing. Their less than honourable profession was not the only reason she didn't follow the brothers to the States. They had tried living together after they escaped but it had been an uncomfortable affair that Iris was not in a hurry to repeat despite what the brothers may desire. So while they had been setting up their criminal empire, she had been travelling the world. She had gotten a taste for the travelling lifestyle now, maybe she would continue from where she left off. Or maybe she would go back to Hell's Kitchen for a time; after she got the brothers settled in. It's not like she spent very long seeing the sights, having only a week to fake two tortured and believable deaths. The little Daredevil seemed like he could be good fun, after all. Once she loosened him up a bit.

* * *

 **From my convienience, unfortunately, I used Google Translate for the Russian; though I may have mentioned that in the first chapter. For those of you who are curious, do the same and type in 'Doll' and 'Dolly' and check the translations that come up below the large box with the direct Russian translation in it. If some people have any questions do let me know and I'll try and get back to you about it.**

 **To the Guest that asked if she could meet Stick, unfortunately, it won't be in this story and, while I like the idea I probably won't write anything for it for a little while yet. I may do a few oneshots off this purly because some of you have given me some good ideas, like meeting Stick and Matt finding out about the Russians being alive, which is an idea from the wonderful Tsume Yuki.**

 **Still, this is the end of this road folks. Hope you enjoyed the ride!**

 **Happy Christmas! I hope it is festive, merry and bright for all of you.**


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